


Those Lights of Fate

by madame_le_maire



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Truth or Dare, less fluffy than that might imply, some implied one-sided relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/pseuds/madame_le_maire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt and Mercutio play a game. For once, nobody gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Lights of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/gifts).



> Written for carmarthen's prompt: Tybalt/Mercutio Truth or Dare.
> 
> Thanks to drcalvin for beta <3

They had lost count of how long they had been in this room, idling beneath the wafts of wine and the ashen light of a lonely lamp.

The bottle wobbled on the uneven planks as it spun; with only the two of them, they had cut the room in half for their game’s purposes so that no matter how many ways the bottle pointed, there were only two possible outcomes.

Childish the game was, but still they played – while miles away from Verona, thrown together by chances infinitely lower than the simple two to one of the spinning bottle. Perhaps it reminded them of days past, when they had been almost-friends or almost-foes. A mellow in-between, changeable like the weather, much milder than the roles they had tumbled into later.

That too, seemed long past now, eternities of roads and seas between them and the country of their birth.

Mercutio took another sip and it occurred to him how pointless the bottle was for their game. Perhaps Tybalt hoped to avoid a few turns through chance. He now asked repeatedly for dares, to escape the inquisition’s daggers after all the shallow questions had been asked, sharp Veronese viciousness still dripping from their lips. So did Mercutio, for while the amusement of an answer evasive through wit had been tempting, the risk of his mind’s nakedness scared him.

There was not much to do, in this plain inn room, and so this tactic only succeeded in making them drunker when half the dares degenerated into increasingly ridiculous ways to ingest wine.

The night stretched impossibly long under those strange stars – they had fled far. Death had always loved Verona, but never before had it made such a prolonged visit. They had been on the verge of catastrophe, the news of unthinkable events spreading disaster in their wake – Tybalt’s hand all but twitching for his blade, Mercutio imagined. The plague could have almost been a blessing for their lot when it made the newlyweds run and their hearts tremble in unison before the destruction ere doom could take them all.

Had this been God’s work, too – the two of them together here, different paths leading to the same spot? Here, at the abyss of fate, either a further cataclysm or dark-hooded benediction awaiting.

Truth, Tybalt said, the word a bellow in the night, and Mercutio crouched forward and licked away a drop of bloody red wine, from his chin up to the corner of his mouth. With Romeo, this could have passed for a joke; but with Romeo, he never would have dared to linger at his lips like this… and anyway, Romeo was gone, away from Verona and safe in love’s gentle arms.

Truth in a dare; he leaned back, too drunk for fear. Verona was rotting, swallowed by Death, so what did it matter?

Tybalt’s eyes were dark from the wine and full of jumpy apprehension like a wounded beast’s, but there was truth in his shaking hands that gripped Mercutio’s wrists. They did not speak and yet Mercutio’s thoughts refused to grow silent. Timber dug into his back and the night’s novel sounds grew quieter while the mutterings of his mind seemed to echo through the room louder than the sighs and gasps –

They are gone, Romeo and Julia. Just the two of us, by chance. And those placid, foreign stars.


End file.
